


Snippet

by Error404_TalentNotFound



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blood - gallons of the stuff, Bullying, Cameos from bandom characters (kinda), Explicit Language, Gen, Guns, Liberal use of expletives, Mikey has asthma, Obey the cliche, Pairings If You Squint, Too much sarcasm, Untidy ending, Violence, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4061350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error404_TalentNotFound/pseuds/Error404_TalentNotFound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Regulation high school jock behaviour and ignorant hetero-normative bigotry aside, who the fuck steals a junior's inhaler and makes him run over twelve blocks to get it?"</p><p>A free-written oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snippet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oh_ms_omegalomaniac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_ms_omegalomaniac/gifts).



> Whoo~ First fic on this account. I have other accts listed on my profile, if you're interested, but I use this one for bandom fics.
> 
> Special thanks to _oh_ms_omegalomaniac_ for getting my butt in gear to polish up this free-written mess (I've been on formal hiatus for over a year oops :x). You should totally check out her fic _Lonely, Lonely Little Life_ ~ it's complete fluffy angst (link is in the end note).
> 
> I'm going with the idea that Mikey doesn't have excessively severe asthma that will be triggered at the slightest discomfort, but if the physics of the thing don't work, please tell me so I can fix it. T-T
> 
> (This fic is just a mess. Ugh.)
> 
> Enjoy~

He'd been running for a good twenty minutes now, pausing to catch his breath only when they turned back to taunt him - which was surprisingly often, strategically speaking. If he didn't stop soon, he'd have an attack and he still wouldn't have his inhaler. His family (what was left of it anyway), was already struggling to pay rent and save up for Gee's college tuition; having to pay for a new inhaler would really just suck. It'd be the second one this month and there was no way in hell he'd make his mother work the extra hours so she could afford it. Damn it.

Mikey drew in another breath and kept running.

* * *

See, the thing about high school is that it isn't just made up of one hierarchy - there _is_ a grade structure, you know. It's not like the jocks and cheerleaders _actually_ run the school. Truth be told, they're not all cock-sucking pricks - granted, most of them are, but, hey, Brendon is seriously pretty cool (he's a cheerleader, because "fuck gender-normative stereotypes - and glitter is _fucking awesome_ , Beckett, get your shit together"). Plus, if they were, it's not like they'd have any sort of social pull anyway. In fact, all the generic bullshit fed to elementary seniors through any portrayal of high school is just that. Bullshit.

Sure, shit happens, but life is shitty regardless of how many mouth-breathers wearing the same crappy red golf shirt with an insignia you happen to impress. Yeah, bullies are real, but regulation high school jock behaviour and ignorant hetero-normative bigotry aside, who _the fuck_ steals a junior's inhaler and makes him run over twelve blocks to get it?

Fucking. Kids.

It should've been a red flag when Mikey wasn't waiting at the front of the school like he usually was, but Gerard wasn't particularly concerned - his brother was hanging out with Pete or Alicia, or _something_ (Wentzian drama tended to beck and call at weird intervals, especially when Patrick was somehow involved - guess who caught the latest death-plague of an illness that Frank had just gotten over?), but ten minutes had turned to twenty and a frantic phone call from Ray exclaiming that he'd seen Mikey chasing some seniors from the window of his internship office. The same kids that had been shoving Gerard in his locker for the past four years.

Motherfucker.

Which was how Gerard and Frank found themselves on a frenzied chase through town, only half-relieved when they'd found Mikey leaning against a stone building for support, barely gasping in enough air to keep from passing out.

Somehow, they'd gotten the inhaler back, cliche revenge-of-the-nerds alleyway fight and all.

"Fuck, Mikey, breathe. _Breathe_."

Gerard uncapped the inhaler and shoved it into his brother's hands, wrapping it in his fingers and guiding it to his mouth. There were a couple of puffs and Mikey stopped shaking so badly.

Gerard cursed under his breath again and stroked his brother's back, trying to calm him, but not for too long.

What. The. Fuck.

He turned now, because even if Frank was angry, fiercely protective, and feisty as fuck, there was no way he'd be able to take all four assholes by himself. It was pretty cool though, in the split second of relative safety between Gerard turning and the sky collapsing on them, seeing Frank clinging onto a guy twice his size and punching the shit out of him. Yeah, the bloodshed was definitely more than just a little satisfying.

But then the guy backed up and slammed Frank into a wall with a loud crack. Things went downhill from there.

Gerard got angrier, if that were possible, and launched himself at the two letter jackets immediately in front of him, only to be caught around the middle and punched squarely in the face. He took a couple of kicks and punches to the stomach too and he was pretty sure his wrist was broken from how hard he was trying to free his grip. He was honestly putting up a good fight, all things considered, but then, there was a hand fisted in his hair and his jaw crashed into the pavement.

He struggled for a moment against the knee pressing down on his back and pinning him in place, until he heard the cocking of a gun and felt cold metal behind his ear.

He stilled immediately.

Was that a gun? Where did that even come from? Oh shit. Shit. _Shit._

He didn't say anything. He didn't even blink, just watched, horrified, as the other three converged on Frank, who had crumpled to the floor and was only just getting up. The first kick sent him crashing down again. The hand in Gerard's hair didn't relent in its grip and his neck was strained from looking up, looking at Frank getting beaten to shit. Watching the blood slowly dripping from somewhere under his hair.

Gerard couldn't look away. He wouldn't have looked away even if he could. He didn't close his eyes. It felt like it would've been an insult if he did.

"Scared yet," he could feel the asshole's hot breath on his neck, sending a disgusted shiver down his side, "faggot?"

Gerard didn't respond, and for a long while - and he knew it was a long time, because he'd been clenching his jaw and holding his breath, and his head had started to ache and his chest had started burning - the only sounds in the night were the thuds of hands and feet connecting with flesh, quiet laughter and smirks, and the gritting of teeth. All Gerard could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, but then, raised over the heavy and elevated pulses, came the popping and snapping of bones and barely suppressed whimpers that left his best friend choking on air.

Okay, that was fucking it. Gun or not, Gerard was furious and he was going to beat down those motherfuckers even if he _was_ shot in the head.

Somehow - magically, almost - when the pressure of the gun was slightly less insistent and the blondie on top of him had let his guard down a little, Gerard found himself with his hand around the gun and blondie unarmed. He was free now and _oh_ was he going to _fuck their shit up_.

He fired once into the air, menacingly enough that blondie scrambled away from him and the other three turned around in surprise. The jocks might've been bulked up to hell and looked like they'd been held back about three years, but staring down the barrel of a gun, they were just high school kids, frozen like deer in headlights.

He heard a cough. Gerard couldn't tell if it came from Mikey or Frank and the thought was terrifying.

"Move, and I'll shoot," his voice echoed into the deafening silence that had taken over the gory sounds of before.

The reasonable part of him held him back, but he was too angry to care. Gerard _wanted to kill_.

Then, as if the near stillness - Frank was still trembling on the ground behind a wall of under-intelligent chimps - had triggered something, most of Gerard's adrenaline drained from him and was replaced by a sizeable amount of pant-shitting fear.

Oh fuck, what was he doing?

He couldn't just shoot them - he wanted to kill them, but he didn't _want_ to kill them.

Somewhere in the distance, there must've been sirens, but Gerard couldn't hear them over the anxiety that was suddenly running double-time through his veins, and in the moment it took for the police to pull up and the doors to slam shut, some of his senses came back to him.

In his peripheral, he saw Mikey lying on the ground, eerily motionless, and right in his view was Frank rasping for air in an impressive pool of blood, surrounded by the now wide-eyed and frozen jocks.

Gerard was shaking now, he could feel it, and he lowered his arms slowly. The officer walked up to him and pried the gun from his hand - well taken, really, because all of his limbs had turned to jello and his fingers just weren't working anymore.

Mikey was already being scooped up and placed on a stretcher, so Gerard stumbled up to Frank instead, kneeling down beside him and barely feeling the blood soak through the knees of his jeans. Distantly, he heard the sound of people yelling at him, but he didn't care. Not at the moment. He couldn't check on Mikey, but he could check on Frank.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Frank didn't turn his head - couldn't, really - but he cracked open an eye and hoarsely responded, "hey." That had send a light spatter of blood over Gerard's face and he numbly registered that his best friend was coughing up blood.

"Sorry," Frank even managed a painful looking smirk as his eyes unfocused on the specks of blood.

Even if he had a response, Gerard wouldn't have been able to say anything, because at that moment, he was forcefully pulled backwards and he felt handcuffs snapping over his wrists.

What?

No.

_No._

**Author's Note:**

> Cmmnt Pls?
> 
> 4L: [http://archiveofourown.org/works/2569424/chapters/5715602]


End file.
